The Meaning of Insanity
by Bellatrix567
Summary: 100 prompt challenge featuring Bellatrix's years in Azkaban. Eventual Voldemort/Bellatrix.
1. Haunted

**100 Prompts by xabandonedaccountx. Centered around Bellatrix's days in Azkaban, maybe some eventual Voldemort/Bellatrix. I made these at one in the morning. Enjoy!**

His face haunted her. She would wake up seeing those catlike red eyes, snake nose, almost nonexistent lips. She would dream of seeing him again. Bowing before him, kissing his robes, obeying his every command - she even missed the Cruciatus Curse. And she would see him again. She had to.

It was the only thing that kept her sane.

The others cursed their Dark Lord, blamed him for being stuck in here. They were insane. Yesterday it had all been Severus' fault, and Wormtail's last week. Perhaps that was true. Perhaps Severus and Wormtail caused it all. But not the Dark Lord. Never the Dark Lord.

He was alive. He would come for them. Bellatrix had to hope, it was that or have all the life sucked out of you by the dementors. And even if she didn't resist the foul creatures like she once did, she hadn't given in to them. She would never give in. She would wait. Someday her Dark Lord would come.

Hope was the only thing that kept her alive.


	2. Clock

She would listen to the clock. You could barely hear it from her cell, but if the other prisoners were quiet, you could still make out the ticking.

_Tick, tock._

How much of her life had been wasted in here? Listening to that clock?

_Tick, tock._

How much longer would she have to wait before the Dark Lord saved her?

_Tick, tock._

Sometimes she would wonder if it was even worth the wait... if maybe death would be easier...

_Tick, tock._

No. She would keep her sanity, whatever was left of it. She would survive. She would someday come out of this hellhole alive.


	3. Stare

Sometimes she would watch the other prisoners. Those who had given up on life. Those who had nothing left to do but stare, eyes blank, at the wall. Their mutterings irritated her. Their _uselessness_ was infuriating.

_What is left here for the Dark Lord to rescue?_

There were fifteen or so Death Eaters in here - all useless. They had no will to live. A few had already died. The rest would soon follow. Bellatrix would be the only one left alive when the Dark Lord came for them.

_If he even does come._

No! She mustn't think that. Of course he would come. Then they would come out of their reveries. They would go back to killing and conquering as if nothing had ever happened...

Oh, could she wait for that day.


	4. Sliding

She slides in and out of insanity. The dementors come; her world is shaken. Nothing but fear. Hopelessness. No reason...

_No. There __**is**_ _reason. Reason for everything. It will all make sense when the Dark Lord returns..._

If he ever returns. She'd been waiting for years. Rumor had it that her Dark Lord was dead.

_But that can't be! The Dark Lord is immortal..._

Doesn't seem very alive any more.

_Just go away! I have nothing for you!_ She's desperate it leaves now... leaves her to the peace of rotting away in this godforsaken cell...

And when it's taken everything she has, the dementor will leave. It will leave to patrol the corridors again, waiting for her to build up hope, so it can return again to feast.

But she'll never stop believing in the Dark Lord. He's all she has left.


	5. Dark Room

She hasn't left this room for nearly a decade. This same, dark room. She knows every inch of it; every scratch, every drop of blood on the walls. The fear and darkness are her friends. But not in the way they were before Azkaban; she doesn't feed on them now. Now the fear feeds on her.

And the dark. When she sees a light, she has to shield her eyes. She hasn't felt the sun on her skin in years. But she's grown accustomed to the dark, to the cold. To the constant tang of death.

But she's resisted the fear. The dark. The sickness. The inevitable death. She's made it this far. She's alive, she's sane. She's still loyal.

And someday, the Dark Lord will take her from this place. She's more than halfway there. She can feel it.


	6. Memories

**Ok, this one isn't technically a prompt, I just wrote it and the next one accidentally while trying to get ideas for 'crying.'**

Sometimes the fear becomes too much. The blind hope she's been living off of wears thin. Then the dementors come...

And the memories return. The memories that have haunted her almost as much as her Dark Lord.

The time Andromeda was disowned. Her engagement to Rodolphus, a boy she barely even knew. Her life as a Death Eater flashed before her. Then her trial. And Azkaban...

That was the hell she was living now. Even happy memories were terrible; it was terrible to think what she could have had.

And she couldn't remember the sadistic glee she'd had while torturing countless Muggles. Couldn't remember the Dark Lord's rare praise. Couldn't remember getting branded with the Dark Mark. Only bitter memories are here now.


	7. New Boy

She watched with fascination as the new boy was brought in. It was a rare occasion when another prisoner joined their ranks. Those who committed petty crimes weren't kept up here.

This new boy was young; younger than she expected. He wasn't school age, but not much older than nineteen. He was trembling with the unnatural cold she was used to. Shoved into a cell directly across from her, he sank to the floor.

Dementors surrounded the new arrival greedily. Fresh meat. She listened to his screams echoing through the dungeons as the slimy gray hands touched his flesh. As what little will he had left was sucked out of him.

Maybe the boy would resist for a few days; maybe more. But eventually, he, like all the others before him - like Crouch, like Rodolphus and Rabastan, like Mulciber, even like Bellatrix herself - he would give in. He would huddle in the corner, staring into space and muttering to himself. Waiting for a Dark Lord who would never come.

Or maybe he would just wait for death.


	8. Crying

When she first came here, she didn't cry. She held back the inevitable tears. Maybe it was for her dignity. Maybe to prove that she still believed in the Dark Lord. But it didn't matter now. Nothing mattered anymore.

Now she would cry. Now she would scream, throw herself against the walls. Huddle in a corner and sob. It used to hurt to let her emotions loose. Now the internal pain is like anesthesia. Her worst moments. Her only moments of peace.

At least she can still feel anything.


	9. I Have an Announcement to Make!

She can still hear the high, cold voice. She can imagine the day he will come to take her from here. "I have an announcement to make!" And all the fallen Death Eaters now staring at the wall would come back to life. They would kill and torture and follow the Dark Lord just like before. Maybe then she'll remember how it feels to be alive.

She pulls up her left sleeve. Sometimes seeing her Mark can make the memories flow. She'll press her palm up against it when she starts to forget the Dark Lord. She relishes the pain. It's not like the other pain in Azkaban, not like the cold, or the fear. This self-controlled pain reminds her of her Dark Lord.

It's twitching again. It usually is, even when she's not touching it. The insane, useless Death Eaters tend to grab their Marks. Even in their insanity, some of them still remember the Dark Lord. She is grateful for it. Without her Mark, she could easily be just as hopeless as the rest.


	10. Wink

Wink. She got the word when a ministry official came to check on things - and left weak, pale and shaking. But they were all weak, leading their pointless, Muggle-loving lives as if they held some purpose.

Wink. She could hardly remember what the word meant anymore. Twelve years, it had been - or was it thirteen? Time hardly mattered here anymore. All of it was wasted years of barely endurable horror. Exactly how much time had been spent didn't matter.

After all, it seemed she had the rest of her life to wait.


	11. Bridge

Azkaban. The bridge between meaning and insanity, but insanity is all it is. The bridge between life and death, she used to think. Before she spent years here, in the cold, the darkness, the fear. Now she knows that even death must be better than this...

If she didn't have her Dark Lord to serve, she might well have ended it years ago. A lifetime sentence; it's not like there was anything to lose. And what a relief it would be, to burn in hell.

At least it wouldn't be so cold.


	12. Letter

"Mail." She scrambled to catch the envelope before it hit the floor. Ripping it open, she pulled out a Christmas card from Narcissa.

_Dear Bella,_

_Merry Christmas! We hope to see you soon!_

_Love, Narcissa_

When she was first put in here, Narcissa used to send her letters. The little pieces of paper were a memory, a glimpse into the outside world. The world she barely remembered any more. Bellatrix never knew how much a few words could mean.

Narcissa even visited once, accompanying Lucius on a business trip. Bellatrix rarely saw the traitor around here - apart from the Dementors, he was too afraid. Afraid of his comrades he had deserted. Even a little ashamed. He had better be. Oh, the Dark Lord would punish Lucius when he came back to power.

Narcissa didn't send letters like she used to. There weren't pages and pages about her family, Lucius and the Ministry and baby Draco. Maybe a Christmas card or a late birthday card with writing scribbled across the back. A few sentences at best.

Hell, even Bellatrix's own sister was starting to forget her.


	13. Sorrow

Sorrow. Accompanied by depression, fear, dark, cold... it was just another service the Dementors had to offer. Sorrow for every past sin you ever committed. Sad memories seemed to pop up twice as much since the happy ones took their leave. Bellatrix was sorry. Sorry she'd ever trusted her husband, sorry she'd agreed to go on her last mission with Crouch... sorry she'd failed the Dark Lord.

A long, long time ago, she used to feel sorrow for Rodolphus. She used to feel pity when Crouch was dead. Once, during a particularly bad night, she'd even felt bad for the Longbottom boy she'd spotted while torturing his parents to insanity.

Now she felt sorrow only toward the Dark Lord. Just like every other of her emotions. Sorry she had failed him, sorry she was of no use to him, rotting away in Azkaban... but when the glorious day came that her Dark Lord came to rescue them, she would redeem herself for it all. She would be more useful and more treasured than all of the other Death Eaters combined.

Maybe, somewhere, he feels sorry that she's still waiting.


	14. Hit by an Object

She is awakened by a ceramic plate crashing down on her head. She rises slowly, no longer reacting with fury as she once did. She doesn't even scream any more. She does turn away from the Dementor. Crawl into a corner, shaking bits of plate from her hair. Maybe Dementors have no sense of humor, but it does not stop them from being cruel.

The Dementor doesn't bother to linger; it knows she has nothing left. Drawing a deep, rattling breath, it moves on. She grabs the stale bread, bites into it greedily.

That's when it happens. She doesn't think of skepticism;they had prevented the imprisoned Death Eaters from touching their Marks years ago. A fierce, warm feeling spreads through her body. She's laughing maniacally, trying desperately to reach her Dark Mark. She knew this day would come, waited for it for thirteen years.

The Dementors sense her happiness; they swarm around her cell in the dozens. In an instant, her happiness is gone. Her laughter stops, her mouth dry. But they won't be able to take away the spark of hope reignited in her chest.

Because her Dark Mark burned.

The Dark Lord is returning at last.


	15. Waiting

The Dark Lord is back, the Dark Lord is back... It's all she can think about. Even if the very thought draws Dementors to her, she won't stop. He will come for her now. He will reward her for her loyalty. He will rise, greater and more powerful than ever before.

Maybe he will torture her. Even the thought of the Cruciatus Curse from him makes her blood race.

He'll torture the disloyal. Those who never went to Azkaban, who were spies and cowards all along. Those who went to Azkaban even though they were stupid, useless, and unloyal. And she'll be by his side. It will be a new beginning.

And it's on the horizon.


	16. Spark

Sixty days. Sixty days since her Mark burned. And it's burned again now. She leaps up, her breathing shallow. He's calling for her. She knows he is. He needs those who are loyal. He's coming for her.

She scratches at the manacle covering her Mark. She must respond to him. Her uneven fingernails, several of them broken off, run over her flesh and make contact with the cold metal, sticky with blood. But she's fought this battle before. For a decade she's tried to remove the manacle. Now countless drops of dried blood have turned it black. It's hopeless.

When the Dark Lord comes for me, he'll remove the manacle.

She always knew that. It never stopped her from straining at the metal so hard she drew blood. But this time, this time she could stop herself. Her Dark Lord would fix it. He would fix everything. Her time was coming soon.

And although she's known this for years, it's the first time her fantasy is within reach.


	17. Waves

It's been a while since she's listened to the waves crashing against the walls of Azkaban. Years. She'd stopped hearing them within her first month. Now they're here again.

There's something different, she can feel it. Her Mark first burned months ago. It's burned twenty-nine times since. The most recent was last night; she knows because her most recent tally mark is a snake drawn in blood.

She blinks in the darkness. Darkness she's accustomed to, but never learned to see in. She's at her cell door in minutes, her face pressed against the bars. She can feel it in the air, and she knows that the Dark Lord has come for her at last. Even the useless, pathetic traitors can feel it. Their muttering is louder; a few have started to move.

She's banging on the door, throwing herself against it. She's about to get out. That feeling, the one welling up inside her for the last few months, comes out at last. She's crying, laughing, screaming, even as her shoulder throbs and begins to bleed in protest.

"My Lord, my Lord, my Lord..." She whispers the words over and over, screams them. Others are screaming, too. She's never gone on this long without the Dementors showing up. Because they won't show up. She won't have to see them ever again.

A resounding bang and crash from the other side of Azkaban lets her know it's real. The Dark Lord has come for her.

**I stopped using the prompts now, and started writing and then coming up with titles. The prompts started to get too off-topic. Anyway, R&R, and be warned that the next few chapters are going to be really long.**


	18. Sunlight

**Sorry it's been a while since I've updated! I can only write this well when I get struck by sudden inspiration sometime past midnight. Otherwise it doesn't sound right.**

She grips the bars until her knuckles whiten. She's screaming at the top of her lungs, but for the first time in years, not in terror. She can hear footsteps, curses, men shouting. She's already bleeding; pinching herself to see if this is reality would be useless. She digs her fingernail deep into her flesh instead.

It's centuries later when the first masked men run up the corridor. Her heart leaps, soars as she recognizes them as Death Eater masks. She hasn't felt this happy since she came to Azkaban. It's startling, exhilarating. But she needs to see the Dark Lord.

One of them runs up to her. "Bellatrix!" She can't recognize his voice. She knows she should. But he's a traitor. Like all the rest of them.

"Alohomora!" he shouts, pointing his wand at the lock. His hood falls off; a blond ponytail is visible. Lucius.

Not sure what she wants to do, Bellatrix strains toward him. Kill him, maybe, after she gets her wand back. Kill him for betraying the Dark Lord. Because it's his fault, she can see that now. Blood runs down her arm as she grabs for him.

Lucius taps the manacle covering her Dark Mark with his wand. It burns red hot, then shatters like glass. Forgetting all else, she grabs her Dark Mark, brings it to her face and kisses it, relishing the burning pain it brings.

Lucius winces. "Bellatrix," his voice brings her back to reality. "Are you alright?" he grips her shoulders, looking her up and down. She pulls away at contact, but his hands are warm. She's never had any interest or even liking for Lucius, but right now she wants to hug him, squeeze him, absorb all his warmth.

"Where's the Dark Lord?" her voice is rough and scratchy from little use. Lucius may be a traitor, but she needs him right now.

"At the Lestrange Manor," Lucius says. He's concerned, scared. Not shaking, but with his nose in the air like she'd seen him so many times before. "We have broomsticks. Come," he pulls her, avoiding calls for help from the other unloyal Death Eaters.

She laughs as she sees her fellow inmates doing nothing or striking out at their former colleagues. Hell, they are useless. She may very well be the only one worth rescuing. Lucius leads her down the corridor at a full sprint, then slowed down when she stumbled and couldn't keep up. It's been years since she ran.

They turn a corner, and she sees it. Sunlight. Streaming through a gigantic hole in the wall, where Lucius and his fellow traitors undoubtedly flew through. She screams, then starts to laugh maniacally, sinking to her knees. Her skin is on fire, not having felt this kind of warmth in too long.

"Bella!" Lucius snaps her attention back to him. "We need to get out of here." There's such urgency in his voice as he thrusts a broomstick into her hands. She clutches it, still laughing. She rises shakily and attempts to mount the broom. Throwing a leg over the handle, she pushes off into the blinding sunlight.

After years of waiting, she's free.


End file.
